The basement garage was cold, dark, and filled with the dull hum of massive industrial ventilation fans.
When I threw open the heavy steel doors of Bay 4, the scene was already under absolute control.
Four men in civilian security uniforms were pinned face-down against the oil-stained concrete floor, their weapons kicked away, held at gunpoint by six of my Aegis tactical operators.
In the center of the bay stood a sleek, high-tech mobile neonatal incubator unit, its internal lights glowing with a warm, soft yellow hue.
The quiet, steady beep… beep… beep… of a tiny heart monitor echoed through the cold damp air.
I ignored the men on the floor.
I ignored Viktor, who stepped forward to hand me a sidearm.
I walked directly to the incubator.
I looked through the clear plexiglass canopy.
There, wrapped in a sterile thermal blanket, was a tiny, fragile human being.
Her skin was pink, her hands no bigger than my thumb, her tiny chest rising and falling in rapid, delicate rhythms.
